


Or Maybe Just Talk to Him

by MundaneExMiscellanea



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 01:05:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4899604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MundaneExMiscellanea/pseuds/MundaneExMiscellanea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of her rejection on the battlements of Skyhold, the Inner Circle has opinions on where Cadash's relationship with Blackwall should go from here.<br/>(Bridging the gap between the "We can't be...whatever you want this to be" and "You are who you choose to follow" conversations)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Or Maybe Just Talk to Him

Cadash saw Blackwall entering the stables and quickly busied herself with the saddlebags the stablemaster handed her. He stood silently for a moment before stepping past her.

"At ease there, old soldier," Blackwall said, patting the neck of his horse while tacking her up. Blackwall glanced at her and she looked away. With a nod to Master Dennet, he lead his horse from the stable.

“He’s been riding out into the hills lately,” Dennet said, after a moment. “Not used to being around so many people, I expect, him being so long in the wilderness.”

“I didn’t ask,” Cadash said. The old stablemaster returned to rubbing down her favorite riding elk, swearing under his breath. She made herself wait a few moments before looking after Blackwall, but he had already moved out of sight.

 

"It's infuriating," she said to Cabot as he poured her another drink.

"Sure," the bartender said.

"You can't give someone the brush off, then wander around like you're the wounded party."

"No doubt."

"Not that I care. Why would I care? He can do what he wants."

"Couldn't agree more."

"Right, so..." Cadash peered at the dwarf closely. "You haven't actually been listening."

"I definitely noticed that you were talking," Cabot said.

"You're a treasure, Cabot," Cadash said wryly. "A jewel."

"I live to serve," he said, refilling her mug, which she hadn't noticed was empty. She determined to nurse this one longer, then drained half of it at once.

The stools beside hers scraped against the wooden floor.

“Inquisitor,” Varric said.

“Lady Cadash,” Dorian said.

“Clever jerks,” Cadash said.

“The perfect name for our book club, I think,” Dorian said.

“Does it refer to us, or to the authors we read?” Varric said.

“Both,” Dorian said. “That’s what makes it clever.”

“You’re giving me a headache,” Cadash said. “And I’m not even properly drunk yet.”

“That’s because you’re drinking by the cup,” Dorian said. “Cabot, three bottles, if you please.”

“Three bottles of what?”

“What a question. Only the finest-”

“He doesn’t care,” Varric said. “Just bring him something fermented.”

“Good man,” Dorian said as Cabot turned away. “Now, Inquisitor, we both want you to know that we are here for you.”

“Should you need us,” Varric said.

“In what…” Cadash said, pausing to drain her cup. “What?”

“Now, it seems to me, when one’s affections have been rejected, moving on is the thing,” Dorian said. “Plenty of deer in the forest, all that rot.”

“Where’s your sense of romance, Sparkler?” Varric said. “Clearly the Inquisitor is waiting the man out, hoping to inspire some kind of grand gesture. Maybe flowers.”

“They’re not even on speaking terms at the moment,” Dorian protested. “I hardly think a simple floral arrangement is the answer.”

“Ooh, what if you lit the flowers on fire?” All three startled as Sera appeared from under the table. “Then you could chuck them at his head! I bet his beard goes up like tinder.” She plucked the bottles from Cabot’s hands.

“The idea is for him to give her the flowers, Buttercup,” Varric said. “Not for her to give him permanent scars.”

“Well, what’s the point then? Giving someone dead flowers, that’s a bit rubbish, isn’t it?”

“It’s a place to start.”

“No, I’m with Sera here,” Dorian said. “Although I've always preferred devastating emotional scars, myself. What do you think, Desa? Shall we draft a cutting letter? Sera could illustrate it. Or would you prefer the incendiary bouquet?”

“I have no idea what any of you are talking about,” Cadash said, desperately filling her cup from one of Cabot’s unlabeled bottles. “I just came here to drink.” She sniffed the contents of her cup skeptically, scowling down the bar at Cabot, who ignored her.

“The sound of his voice,” Cole said, sitting on the table, and they all jumped again. “The way it lifts when he says her name, a shadow across his eyes when she asks about his past, he tugs his beard like a child in a new shirt that doesn’t fit quite yet.” They all stared at him. Cole scooted back on the table to avoid the wine Cadash had spilled. “We shouldn’t burn the beard. She likes the beard.”

Cadash buried her face in her hands. Varric refilled her cup.

“I just don’t get it,” she said, looking up. “Things were great, and now it’s like he can’t even look at me.”

“He looks when you’re not looking,” Cole said.

“He looks at parts of you, anyway,” Sera said, pointedly not looking at Cadash’s face. Cadash blushed and then immediately scowled.

“Want to know what I think?” Bull said, grabbing a seat at the end of the table next to Dorian.

“Why not?” Cadash said. “Everyone else has an opinion.”

“Talk to him out in the field,” Bull said. “He sees you differently out there, away from all this stuff.”

“Why? I’m the same person,” Cadash said.

“But maybe he’s not,” Bull said, laughing. Before she could ask what was so funny, his face lit up, and he was calling across the room. “Krem! Hey, Krem, get over here.” To the table he said, “Ladies love Krem.”

“How does that help me?” Cadash asked.

“Strategy, boss,” Bull said. “He’s seen it all.”

“Is that why he sits in the corner by himself?” Dorian asked.

“You’re in the library too much,” Bull said. “That corner is like a honeytrap. He sits there, tips back a bottle, and by the time it’s upright again someone is there to keep him company. Nobody likes to see that boy drinking alone.”

Krem wandered over, accompanied by Harding, and by his expression Bull clearly felt this proved his point.

"What's up, Chief?" Krem said.

"The Inquisitor has a problem," Bull said.

"Aw, you haven't worked things out with Warden Blackwall?" Harding asked.

"How does everyone know?" Cadash said. "We weren't even a thing!"

"You're not really subtle, Inquisitor," Varric said. "The smiling, the flirting, replaced by silence and frowning, it wasn't hard to pick up on."

"You were brighter," Cole said. "Now you burn low, like embers."

"I watched you read the same page of a book of Orlesian heraldry for an hour," Dorian said. "In my favorite chair."

"Plus, I said something hilarious and neither of you laughed." Sera sighed. "I can't remember what it was now."

"Fine fine fine," Cadash said. "Glad I've been making an obvious ass of myself for the last few weeks. What do I do now?"

"Why would I know?" Krem said.

"Don't be modest, Krem de la crem," Bull said. "Everyone knows you have a way with the ladies."

"Oh does he?" Harding said, crossing her arms.

"Chief that's....he's exaggerating," Krem said, blushing. "Chief loves to exaggerate."

"No, no, it's true," Bull said. "Nobody can say no to that face. Look at that face!"

"You're one to talk," Krem said. "With all the letters you receive from 'satisfied customers.'"

"Ha! Satisfaction _guaranteed_. Ahhh, Krem, you know I'm just messing with you," Bull said, patting the Tevinter's shoulder. "But seriously," he said to the table. "I'm telling the truth. He leaves broken hearts wherever we go."

"Chiiiiiief," Krem said. Harding hid a smile behind her hand.

"Well?" said Dorian. "Any advice for our Inquisitor, oh great sage of the romantic arts?"

Krem sighed. "Cook him dinner, maybe? That usually works on me."

"You should take notes," Bull said to Harding. Krem blushed again.

"I mostly cook piles of mush," Cadash said. "Or roasted...burned meat."

"Well, he has been in the wild a long time," Dorian said. "I doubt he's picky."

"Thanks," Cadash said.

"About his food," Dorian said. "Obviously, I meant the food."

"Yeah, Inky, he meant your horrible food," Sera said.

"Inky?" Harding said.

“What? Like Varric’s the only one who can use nicknames?” Sera’s lips curled as everyone looked at her. “What? It’s cute, shut it!”

“Definitely cute,” Krem said.

“Don't get ideas, soldier boy,” Sera said. “I only like-”

“Qunari?” Bull said.

“Arrows?” Varric said.

“Jokes involving excrement?” Dorian said.

“Girls! I only like girls, you tits!” Sera snarled. “Arseholes!”

Cadash raised her eyebrows. Sera blushed, looking away. “I’m going to see if they have any...food...type...things.”

“I’ll help,” Cole said. “I know where the cook hides the good cheese.”

“She’s not exactly subtle either,” Varric said after they’d gone.

“I’d say if Blackwall doesn’t come to his senses, you’ve got a real chance with that maniac,” Dorian said.

“I don’t know,” Cadash said, keeping her voice light to mask the way her heart plummeted at the mention of Blackwall’s name. “She’s always seemed a little young.”

“I’m not sure she’s as young as she seems,” Harding said. “I think maybe she’s just silly.”

“She introduced herself by shooting an arrow into someone’s face,” Varric said.

“I mean,” Krem said. “That is a pretty silly way to kill someone. Trick shots are more likely to go wrong than to put down your target.”

Bull sighed. “You have no sense of flare, Krem.”

“You’ve got flare enough for all of us, chief.”

“True,” Bull said, more contentedly.

As the conversation meandered, Sera and Cole came back with sausage and cheese and warm bread that had clearly been stolen from the ovens. Bull and Varric attempted to outdo one another in outrageous stories, while Dorian and Cadash offered sarcastic commentary like two old men in a balcony overlooking a Ferelden puppet show. They all drank late into the night, the gathering only breaking up when Sera threatened to burn down the tavern if they sang one more round of “Sera Was Never.”

As Cadash concentrated on not disgracing herself on her walk back to the keep, she tried not to think about Blackwall, or what seemed like hundreds of stairs between the courtyard and her bed. She began to wish she’d taken Krem and Harding up on their offer of an escort. Or slept under a table. Like old times.

She stumbled, and a hand caught her arm. She took a deep breath, looked up, and saw through bleary eyes that it was Cassandra. Her heartbeat steadied.

“Inquisitor,” the Seeker said. “May I speak with you?”

“Is it, uh,” Cadash said, tottering a little. “Is it important?”

“It’s about Warden Blackwall,” Cassandra said quietly.

Cadash regarded her warily.

“I am concerned," Cassandra said. "May I ask why you have declined to have Warden Blackwall accompany us into the field recently?"

"No," Cadash said.

“He is a very capable warrior,” Cassandra said. “But if he’s given you reason to think he is unreliable-”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Cadash said. “I just...I don’t want to talk about this.”

"I suppose the others have been giving you clever stratagems to solve this problem," Cassandra said.

"Maybe," Cadash said. "What problem?"

"Have you considered simply talking to him?" Cassandra said. "I'm sure you could resolve this."

"He's made it clear he's not interested in more conversation," Cadash said.

"He said this to you?"

"Well, not exactly, but his intention..."

"Blackwall is not the sort of man who says one thing and means another," Cassandra said. "He is very straightforward."

"Not very forthcoming, though," Cadash grumbled. "I barely know anything about him."

"Not everyone can be at peace with their past the way you are, Inquisitor," Cassandra said. "Sometimes I think you actually miss being a criminal."

"It was a pretty good time," Cadash said.

"My point is that we know everything that is important to know about Blackwall," Cassandra said. "He is an experienced warrior, a leader, and he has the courage to stand against our enemies, to sacrifice himself, if necessary." She raised a hand, as if to reach out in comfort, then thought better of it. "He is a good man, Inquisitor. Whatever happened, he deserves a second chance."

Cadash scowled at the ground.

"Thank you," she said, finally. "For the advice. I'll sleep on it."

"See that you do," Cassandra said. "That's all I can ask."

Cadash called to her as she started to turn away, and held her arms up to her.

"I am not giving you a hug, Inquisitor."

Cadash shook her head, looking significantly at the stairs.

"You...you cannot be serious," Cassandra said. Cadash swayed dramatically. Cassandra glanced around. The courtyard was quiet and empty. She sighed in disgust.

"You're my bes' frien'," Cadash murmured sleepily, as Cassandra hauled her up the stairs on her back.

"Do not let go," Cassandra said, adjusting her grip on her legs. "I will leave you on the stairs for some Orlesian noble to trip over."

"Heh, Orlesians," Cadash said, but she hung on until Cassandra dropped her safely on her bed, then fell instantly to sleep.

The entire walk to the stable the next day, she planned, or tried to plan, what she would say. She and Dorian had come up with some pretty decent insults, but they clashed painfully with all the sweet, sappy, embarrassing things her heart wanted to say, leaving her in a muddle. She had half a mind to put on her bronze-studded gloves and quash this Carta style. She'd gotten some of her closest friends and favorite scars that way.

When she stepped into the barn, Blackwall was in the middle of carving a wooden...griffon, maybe? And everything she wanted to say fell right out of her head, leaving her just looking at him, baffled.

"What, this? This is...it's nothing," Blackwall said. "Something to keep the hands busy."

And for the first time in almost a month, Cadash genuinely smiled.


End file.
